The Fight

I fight with myself over taking you
to bed
pulling you between my sheets
and thighs;
in the scent of you
left behind;
those piles of non-essential clothes
that carry you knotted their fabric.

Whirring fan blades brush me
with their faint breeze,
cool this heated flesh
caught up in the momentary celebration
of making love – and having
sex for the pure pleasure of sex.

Wrestling with memories of you
beside me,
I stretch out naked, relaxed
yet tense
with longing,
exhausted from the fight.